16 quotes
Alone he rides, alone,
The fair and fatal king:
Dark night is all his own,
That strange and solemn thing.
By the Statue of King Charles at Charing Cross (1895)
Dark Angel, with thine aching lust
To rid the world of penitence:
Malicious Angel, who still dost
My soul such subtile violence!
The Dark Angel (1895)
Ill times may be; she hath no thought of time:
She reigns beside the waters yet in pride.
Some players upon plaintive strings
Publish their wistfulness abroad;
I have not spoken of these things,
Save to one man, and unto God.
Our wearier spirit faints,
Vexed in the world‘s employ:
His soul was of the saints;
And art to him was joy.
By the Statue of King Charles at Charing Cross (1895)
Well fare she, well! As perfect beauty fares;
And those high places, that are beauty's home.
The ardour of red flame is thine,
And thine the steely soul of ice:
Thou poisonest the fair design
Of nature, with unfair device. Apples of ashes, golden bright;
Waters of bitterness, how sweet!
O banquet of a foul delight,
Prepared by thee, dark Paraclete!
The Dark Angel (1895)
Which are more full of fate:
The stars; or those sad eyes?
Which are more still and great:
Those brows; or the dark skies?
By the Statue of King Charles at Charing Cross (1895)
Vanquished in life, his death
By beauty made amends:
The passing of his breath
Won his defeated ends.
By the Statue of King Charles at Charing Cross (1895)
Now from the broken tower, what solemn bell still tolls,
Mourning what piteous death? Answer, O saddened souls!
Who mourn the death of beauty and the death of grace.
The Age of a Dream (1890)
Do what thou wilt, thou shalt not so,
Dark Angel! triumph over me:
Lonely, unto the Lone I go;
Divine, to the Divinity.
The Dark Angel (1895)
King, tried in fires of woe!
Men hunger for thy grace:
And through the night I go,
Loving thy mournful face. Yet, when the city sleeps;
When all the cries are still:
The stars and heavenly deeps
Work out a perfect will.
By the Statue of King Charles at Charing Cross (1895)
What comes now? The earth awaits
What fierce wonder from the skies?
Thunder, trampling through the night?
Morning, with illustrious eyes?
Morning, from the springs of light:
Thunder, round Heaven's opening gates..
Through thee, the gracious Muses turn,
To Furies, O mine Enemy!
And all the things of beauty burn
With flames of evil ecstasy. Because of thee, the land of dreams
Becomes a gathering place of fears:
Until tormented slumber seems
One vehemence of useless tears.
The Dark Angel (1895)
Thou art the whisper in the gloom,
The hinting tone, the haunting laugh:
Thou art the adorner of my tomb,
The minstrel of mine epitaph.
The Dark Angel (1895)
I fight thee, in the Holy Name!
The Dark Angel (1895)